


The House on the Hilltop

by Gray Cardinal (Gray_Cardinal)



Category: Night of the Solstice - L. J. Smith
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 21:42:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Cardinal/pseuds/Gray%20Cardinal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Janie and Alys have both heard parts of the story -- but both have questions about the history of the house called Fell Andred.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slightlykylie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlykylie/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** _Night of the Solstice_ , _Heart of Valor_ , and the characters therein belong to L. J. Smith. The present story is entirely speculative, and may or may not turn out to be consistent with canon at such time as the hypothetical third book eventually comes out.
> 
> The present-day portions of the following narrative take place a few weeks after the conclusion of _Heart of Valor_.

_Villa Park, CA – present day_

“There’s something I still don’t understand,” Alys said to Janie one Saturday morning in August while they were walking to Fell Andred. As usual, Janie had a study session with Morgana, and Alys had a horse to attend to.

Janie cocked an eyebrow at her sister. “Quantum physics? Boys? Claudia’s handwriting?”

Alys gave her a look. “Be nice. She’s catching up fast enough now.”

“True,” Janie said. “At least her spelling is getting better. Anyway, you were saying?”

“It’s the house,” said Alys, as they reached the gravel road leading up the hill. “I mean, look at it. It’s so...big.”  
Janie scowled at her. “It kind of had to be, considering. Even Morgana couldn’t shrink the whole Great Coastal Passage down to the size of a condominium.”

“Well, yes,” Alys said defensively. “But that’s just it. Morgana built Fell Andred around five hundred years ago, right?”

“A bit more than that, give or take a couple of decades, but – yes. So?”

“You’re supposed to be the genius,” Alys told her. “Think about it. Who else was living around here five hundred years ago? Unless I’ve totally forgotten Mr. Rathskeller’s local-history unit, the Spanish didn’t get to this part of California till the middle fifteen-somethings.”

Janie frowned thoughtfully. “About fifty years after Morgana, more or less. I see what you’re getting at. She’d have hidden the house by magic, of course, but one way or another, she ought to have left enough of an impression for traces to show up in the history books.”

“And that’s the other thing,” Alys said. “When we came along winter before last and rescued her, Morgana said she hadn’t so much as picked up her Gold Staff for half a millennium. So how do you hide a house by magic when you’ve stopped practicing it?”

“Some spells endure.”

The greatest sorceress since Darion Beldar emerged from the henhouse, a basket dangling from one arm. “Mind you,” Morgana added, “there was never a question of making the house invisible.” She paused, fixing her gaze on Janie, who blinked.

“Right,” Janie said. “For one thing, overkill – invisibility’s not hard, but it’s expensive, especially for really big things. For two, impractical, at least by itself. Making something invisible doesn’t stop people from banging up against it. And for three, you didn’t because it isn’t – I mean, we can see the house now, and people have been telling creepy-house-on-the-hill stories for as long as I can remember.”

Alys nodded. “Longer. We got some of those from Mom when we were little. But there was still a spell...so what was it?”  
Morgana gave the two of them a considering look. “Come in, both of you. Winter will wait, and this will take time to tell.”

Fifteen minutes later, the three of them were nestled comfortably in Morgana’s kitchen. The two girls had tall glasses of lemonade and a tray of ginger cookies between them, while the sorceress had fixed herself a mug of tea and a plate of scrambled eggs. She took a bite, set down her fork, and began.

“You have both had parts of the story, I think – you from the sword, and you from the vixen,” she said, glancing at Alys and Janie in turn. “There is neither time nor need to relate a full accounting of my life, but you have certainly earned the right to a proper history of this house.”


	2. The Old World....

_Cornwall, England – ca. 1484_

The staff of her manor house were well used to Lady Morgana Lake’s frequent and unpredictable absences.  They had even learned to disregard the oddity of a mistress who often came and went without the aid of horse or carriage, sometimes unexpectedly vanishing from one part of the house and reappearing days or weeks later in another.

They were, however, visibly startled when she returned from the latest of these with a companion on her arm – not least because the first meeting occurred when the two of them came downstairs for breakfast.

Owen Pendennis, the household’s clerk, was first to recover his breath.  “My lady,” he said, almost but not quite keeping the curiosity from his voice.  “Welcome home – and greetings likewise to your...guest.”

Morgana cursed inwardly.  _I couldn’t have mismanaged this more thoroughly if I’d tried.  Ah, well, at least I found him some good English clothing.  Darion only knows what they’d have thought of his native dress._  

She forced herself to smile.  “Good morning, Rhys, Owen, Theresa, Claire.  This is—” she paused, glancing at her companion, “Arrow-of-Stars.  I have been traveling in his people’s lands; now he has consented to visit ours.  His people are called the Yuma.”

For a long moment, Owen and Arrow-of-Stars regarded each other warily.  They were perhaps two years apart in age, Owen at nineteen being the elder, but where the Briton was squarely built and blonde, Arrow-of-Stars was tall and wiry, with jet-black hair and a nugget of carved silver dangling from his right ear.

“Well, then,” Owen said finally, “welcome to England – Sir Arrow, is it?”  His tone was friendly enough, but it was tinged with a fiercely protective caution.

“’Sir Arrow’ it will be,” Arrow-of-Stars replied just as evenly, the English words – courtesy of one of Morgana’s amulets – sounding richer in his distinctive accent.

#

What Morgana had not shared with her staff was the reason she had been traveling.  In the weeks following her last horrifying visit to Cadal Forge at Fell Valdris, she had slipped quickly and quietly all across Europe by portal, and grew increasingly alarmed by what she saw.  It was not precisely that the human authorities, religious and secular alike, had become more intolerant of magic.  Rather, they were using the fear of magic to gather greater power to themselves.  The sorcerei weren’t the only folk caught in the ensuing conflicts, but they tended to be the most visible targets, and Morgana was not the only one who had noticed.

So she turned her attention halfway around the globe.  The folk of Findahl, of course, had known for centuries of the continent that would eventually be called North America; their own capital stood sentinel on the western shore of its match in the Wildworld.  Yet for the most part they took as little notice of it as did the Europeans, and interfered but little in the lives of its native peoples – who, on the rare occasions when they crossed the paths of the sorcerei, usually either retreated in fear or tried to worship them as gods.

To Morgana, it was a wild and beautiful land, if a rustic one.  In particular, she was fascinated by the rugged mountains and deserts in its southwestern quarter – and by the humans she found living among them, tempered by the elements yet determined to survive.  By the standards of Europeans and sorcerei alike they were hopelessly primitive, but in some ways they were as closely attuned to their surroundings as the Quislai were to their native forests.  Morgana found herself drawn to watch these natives...

...and then she met Arrow-of-Stars.

The encounter had been a complete surprise to both of them.  The nearest native encampment of any size was at least three days distant by foot, and Morgana had seen no sign of human passage as she made her way, light-footed and silent, through a narrow cleft and into what proved to be a steep-sided canyon with a tiny spring-fed lake at its center.  She approached the lake and knelt, dipping a cup from her carry-bag into the water – then leapt upright as a tall shadow came rapidly up behind her.

They studied each other warily for several minutes before Morgana thought to cast a translation spell – and then talked for several hours before either of them thought to pause for a meal.  The young Yuma dream-singer was enthralled by Morgana’s encyclopedic knowledge of the natural world, and Morgana was astonished by the depth of Arrow-of-Stars’ desire to understand that world rather than mastering it.  It did not take long for their shared intellectual passion to awaken passion of another sort, and between the two attractions it was more than a week later before they came up for air and began considering what to do next.  Arrow-of-Stars, who had come to the canyon on the strength of a vision-dream, declared his own mission fulfilled.  Morgana, who had by then been away from her home in England for fully half a year, thought it past time to return, and invited her newfound heart-mate to accompany her.

Arrow-of-Stars agreed, asking only that they first visit the Yuma encampment nearest the canyon to announce their intentions.  As a dream-singer, he was bound to no one clan and could travel as he wished, but thought it necessary to advise his people before journeying so far beyond their native lands.  Morgana readily agreed, and proceeded to introduce Arrow-of-Stars to the novelty of travel by magical portal.

#

It was something less than two weeks after Morgana’s return when another visitor presented herself at the manor’s gates.  “The Council at Weerien,” Terzian Logren reported, once seated in Morgana’s parlor, “is in turmoil over the humans’ witch hunts.”

Morgana arched an eyebrow at her old friend.  “No great surprise, that, though for once they have reason to be worried.  The question is why the Council’s skirmishes should worry me.”

“Two reasons,” Terzian replied.  “Cousin Cadal argues that we of Findahl should become the humans’ masters, ruling this world as we do our own.”

Morgana laughed, though bitterly.  “He is mad.  I suppose we might possibly conquer the Earth by magic, properly wielded – but we could never hold all of humankind under our thrall.”

“In that, the majority agrees with you,” Terzian said dryly.  “However, there is a counterproposal.  Thia Pendriel would have us depart the Stillworld utterly, sealing the Passages behind us.  And she is near to swaying the Council in favor of the notion.”

At this, Morgana drew in a sharp breath.  “What of those of us with...connections among mortal folk?”

Terzian shook her head gravely.  “As matters stand, no exceptions would be made.  All born of Findahl would be required to return; all born of Irenahl would remain.”

“Hah,” Morgana said.  “By that rule, I needs must split myself in half.  Or perhaps the good Magistress would care to do it for me.”

“I don’t doubt it has crossed her mind,” said Terzian, with a grim chuckle.  “Somehow, your case has been overlooked in the debates.”

“Clearly that must be remedied.  Rhys and Owen can manage my affairs here well enough–” Morgana paused abruptly, frowning.

Terzian gave her a quizzical look.  “Is there a problem?”

“No—and yes,” Morgana said.  “There’s no question about going before the Council, especially now.  But there is someone I had best leave behind – and I do not think this is the moment to tell him just where I am going.”

It was the younger sorcerei’s turn to arch her eyebrows.  “This is news indeed,” she said, amusement mingling with surprise in her voice.  “I take it this individual is no mere houseguest.”

Morgana nodded gravely.  “It is a true heart-bond,” she replied, quickly relating how she had met Arrow-of-Stars.  “But his people have no experience of us whatsoever; until now there has been no need to try and explain.  And depending on how the Council acts—”

“It may be simpler to avoid the issue entirely,” Terzian finished.  “I think I should meet this heart-mate of yours, but I agree; it would be most unwise to flaunt him before the Council just now.”

“That can be arranged,” said Morgana, “providing that matters in Weerien are not so desperate that we must leave tonight.  I daresay the return trip will be much quicker than your journey here,” she added, tapping her Gold Staff.

Terzian managed a faint but genuine smile.  “The White is more than sufficient to summon timely messengers.  Morning will be quite soon enough to embark, O Mistress of Portals.”

#

As it turned out, persuading the Council into a compromise was the least of the ensuing challenges.  With Terzian’s testimony confirming that Morgana and Arrow-of-Stars shared a genuine heart-bond, tradition dating nearly from Darion Beldar’s own time barred them from permanently separating the couple.  The only question was how to craft a solution that preserved Morgana’s tie to her Yuma partner while maintaining her rights as a wielder of the Gold Staff. 

Not surprisingly, it was Thia Pendriel who brokered the eventual compromise – largely by persuading her own partisans on the Council that Morgana would be unable to complete the needed spell-workings, and would thereby forfeit her status among the sorcerei by her own hand.  And while Morgana herself recognized the enormous difficulty of the task set before her, she accepted it willingly.  If the price of failure was to be stranded in the Stillworld – well, she would still have a heart-bond, and such powers as the Gold Staff would grant her.

There were, however, other prices.  When she returned from the Wildworld, she called everyone in her English household together.  “I have news,” she told them, “both sad and joyous.  The happier tidings are these: from this day forward and so long as we both live, my heart is joined with that of Arrow-of-Stars of the Yuma people.”

At these words, shouts of congratulation arose, for the young dreamsinger had been a friendly and charming guest, eager to learn the ways of his new surroundings.  But Morgana lifted a hand and spoke again.  “I thank you for your kindness and your loyalty,” she said, “through long years and strange times.  For the sad news is that I must soon bid farewell to this manor, and my new home will be in a country so far away that its borders have never yet been mapped.”

There were several moments of stunned silence, followed by a rapid stream of questions from several directions at once – as well as a number of offers to follow wherever Morgana should choose to go.  Again, the sorceress raised a hand for silence.  “I am touched,” she said huskily.  “And if I could do so, I would happily bring every one of you with me.  But that cannot be – no, hear me out.  The lands of the Yuma and their neighbors are wild and dangerous – there are no roads, no wagons, scarcely even villages as you know them.  The house I shall build will be as an island in a vast and lonely sea; we, and any who come with us, will be cut off almost completely from the civilized world.  It is not a choice to be made lightly.”

“You’ll need workers to help build that new house,” pointed out Owen Pendennis, who stood  close by Morgana.

“True,” she replied.  “But the heir to this manor will likewise need folk to keep it up.  And that heir will be you, Rhys Prestwick.”  The household’s bailiff blinked, clearly taken by surprise, but Morgana pressed on.  “Never fear, everything will be properly ordered in good time.”

There were many more questions, of course, but Morgana dealt with them all, leaving nearly all the household’s staff in the care of its next master.  Three alone did she take aside: her herbalist, a middle-aged widow with no immediate family; the blacksmith’s apprentice, a youth who had arrived on Morgana’s doorstep quite recently (and whom she suspected of having at least a dash of Quislai in his blood); and Owen.  Like most of the household, all three knew their mistress was a skilled worker of magic, but unlike their fellows, each of these three had at least a touch of second sight themselves – and each had a particular skill Morgana needed for the task ahead of her.

She placed Owen and the aspiring smith in Terzian’s charge and dispatched the trio to the Wildworld, promising to join them in due course.  Terzian was not entirely happy with this arrangement, but acquiesced when Morgana observed, “The Council’s edicts only take final effect once I have met or abandoned my part of the bargain.  If questions are raised – which is unlikely so long as you are circumspect – send word and I will come.”

Meanwhile, she took Arrow-of-Stars and the herbalist through a series of portals back to what was not yet California, and there spent several days traveling along the lands adjoining the Great Coastal Passage, seeking the best possible site on which to build a bridge between worlds – and a new home.

 


	3. ...and the New

The little hill drew Morgana’s attention at once.  Its rounded summit offered space for a large house and the attendant outbuildings, its slopes were neither too steep nor too easily climbed...and most useful of all, it sat squarely atop a natural waypoint along the Passage.

She did not mention this last point to Arrow-of-Stars, in whom she had still not fully confided her origins.  The dream-singer’s people were not entirely unaware of the Wildworld – judging by their legends, at least a few Quislais had visited the region within living memory, making their usual mischief – but they accounted it a realm of spirits and demons, to be avoided by mortal folk.

As it was, Arrow-of-Stars was not wholly pleased.  Though the Yuma traveled widely, his people’s lands were several days’ travel to the east and south of the hill Morgana had chosen.  “This place,” he said, “is nearly as foreign to me as England.  What of the canyon where we met?  That is fair, and a place of power, yet within my people’s range.”

Morgana answered with as much patience as she could muster.  “It is all those things, and I would not see it cluttered with such a dwelling as we must raise.  The powers to whom I answer call most strongly here.  Perhaps they will call to you also – seek your dreams, and tell me what they reveal.”

“I shall,” Arrow-of-Stars replied. 

The next morning, he awoke her in tones of surprise.  “Reflections,” he said.  “It is all mirrors and mirror-images and images within the mirrors – some I recognize, and many I do not.  Truly this is a place of great power; I have no doubt I will dream many dreams here.”

“Mirrors,” Morgana repeated softly.  She had been struggling to find a keystone on which she could anchor the spells to gather and bind the Passage, and now her heart-mate’s vision had supplied the answer.  She reached for his hand, clasping it in both of hers.  “So be it, then; here shall we build Fell Andred, the House of Mirrors.”

It was, of course, somewhat more complicated than that.  There was the matter of actually building two Fell Andreds, one on each end of the Passage, and of ensuring that both structures occupied essentially the same space in their respective worlds.  To that end Morgana called on Owen Pendennis’ skills, so that it was his hand that drafted plans for the two houses and his eye that oversaw the necessary surveying.  There were the mirrors themselves to be crafted; for these, Morgana’s young smithy hammered and cast the frames while a glazier of Terzian Logren’s acquaintance supplied the glass.

The construction of the twin dwellings proceeded with startling speed, carried out by crews of skilled Finderlais artisans.  Somewhat to Morgana’s surprise, there had been no shortage of folk willing to take on the labor.  Terzian, however, merely nodded sagely when the subject came up.  “Thia Pendriel is not so popular as she likes to believe,” she said.  “Her enemies hope to see you succeed as strongly as Thia herself wishes you to fail.  Then, too, you offer fair recompense in return for their efforts; many sorcerei are not so generous.”

Within little more than a month, nearly all the work was done.  In the Wildworld, a stout stone castle stood proudly atop its chosen hill; on Earth, Morgana’s builders had given her a spacious mansion of hand-milled wood, timber being far more plentiful than quarried stone.  Both had been furnished, the needed mirrors hung in every room.  Only one task remained – the casting of the master-spell joining mirror to mirror, house to house, world to world.

By the time the day came  – Morgana had deliberately chosen the summer solstice – the sorceress had long since dismissed the work crews.  Terzian Logren waited and watched in the great hall of Findahl’s Fell Andred, while Morgana stood alone in the corresponding chamber of her new home in the Stillworld.  Of all her former household, only Owen Pendennis and Elspeth the herbalist remained, and they waited now, together with Arrow-of-Stars, a little distance outside the mansion.

This was not a spell calling for herbs and powders and potions, nor even for complicated incantations.  Morgana raised her Gold Staff, closed her eyes, called power with her will alone...

...and power answered.

The very air in the hall vibrated as the Passage opened around her, its energies twisting out to reach into and through every room of the mansion – and every room of the castle that was its match in the Wildworld.  Terzian, her expression still and cool, had woven a snug shield with her own White Staff, but both sorcerei knew that should the energies slip from Morgana’s control, neither of them would survive the hour.

Her body grew bright and warm as fire as Morgana drew the Passage’s energies inward and wrapped them around herself.  The Gold Staff gave off a deep, resonant _thrrummm_ as tendrils of kaleidoscopic energy danced along its length.  Drawing in a breath, Morgana stepped forward and began walking from room to room, standing before the mirror in each, tracing sigils in the air before each with her staff, then willing each sigil into the structure of each frame and mirror in turn.  At first the process went smoothly enough, but the sixth time through the process was noticeably more difficult than the first, and with each new room it grew harder and harder to hold the threads of the Passage in check.  After a dozen mirrors had been bound with more than that left to ensorcel, she paused long enough for a gusty breath...and gasped as she felt the entire spell attempt to unravel itself and snap free.  Gasping, she drew her powers inward again and hurried onward, striding as quickly as she could up stairs and down again, working as quickly as she could without sacrificing the precision needed to properly craft each sigil and binding.

Dusk was falling as the last glyph melted into the last mirror.  As the final elements of the spell took hold, Morgana felt herself grow light as a blade of windblown grass.  The Gold Staff flared as it took power back into itself, and she had scarcely enough balance to stumble over to the nearest couch before fatigue claimed her and she collapsed onto its cushions.

She was still kitten-weak two days later, when she awoke to find herself in her own bedchamber with Arrow-of-Stars beside her.  Three more days’ worth of rest and restorative teas finally gave her the strength to get up, and it was half a week after that before Morgana at last pronounced herself fully recovered.  Arrow-of-Stars greeted the declaration with pleasure – until she added, “And none too soon, for there is yet one spell I must cast over this house.”

“Another?  Not so draining as the last, I hope,” the dream-singer said, attempting not quite successfully to keep the grumble from his voice.

Morgana shook her head.  “By no means,” she said, then went off to consult with Elspeth.  The following morning, she and the herbalist met near the edge of the hilltop outside the house, then set off in opposite directions, meeting again when each had completed a full circle around the perimeter of what amounted to the new estate.  The sorceress, who had been inscribing signs in the earth as she went, spoke a short phrase in Latin and touched the Gold Staff to the ground.  A slender, leafy plant grew at once to a height of nearly two feet; a light breeze then arose, and leaves from its branches sparkled and blew free, fragmenting and darting along the spell-circle as more of the sprigs sprang from the earth in their wake, their leaves in turn fluttering briskly into dust on the carefully circumscribed wind.  Perhaps fifteen minutes passed before the tracery of blowing herbs had made a complete circuit, after which the entire circle of signs and leaves flashed for an instant with emerald-green light before disappearing entirely.

Arrow-of-Stars cocked a curious eye at Morgana.  “And what has this accomplished, my love?”

She laughed lightly.  “That was worldleaf,” she told him.  “By itself, a breath of its scent allows one to perceive pure truth, though only for a few minutes’ time.  Used thus, it has woven a cloak of privacy around Fell Andred; anyone who passes near shall see only what he or she believes _should_ stand here.  It will not prevent friends from finding us, but it will keep us from being noticed by every passing hunter or _conquistador_.”

“Conquistador?” her heart-mate asked.  The resulting discussion lasted well into the afternoon.

#

The next eight months passed all too quickly, an idyll of peace and happiness such as Morgana had rarely known in all her near-immortal life.  She and Arrow-of-Stars explored the lands around their new home.  With Elspeth’s help, she established a small but well-kept garden and laid in supplies of herbs both mundane and magical.  Owen Pendennis began organizing Morgana’s voluminous library, acquired over several human lifetimes and but hastily packed for the move to Fell Andred.  Not even an unexpected visit – not that there was ever any other sort – from Elwyn, Morgana’s Quislai half-sister, was sufficient to dampen the little household’s general good spirits.

It was, however, enough to awaken Arrow-of-Stars’ innate and unquenchable curiosity.

When he and Morgana had met, the dream-singer had known nothing of the world beyond the lands of the Yuma.  But Arrow-of-Stars had proven an eager and willing student, aided greatly by the language-amulet that permitted him to understand both spoken and written English.  While Morgana’s guest in England, he had seldom been without a book somewhere to hand, and had also acquired a fascination with maps.  So it was that one of his first questions to Elwyn – out of Morgana’s hearing – had been, simply, “What land are you from, my lady?”

Elwyn being Elwyn, she had eventually given him nine different answers, all of them maddeningly vague in one way or another.  But while Elwyn was constitutionally incapable of clarity, she was equally lacking in guile.  And the thread of honesty woven through her replies was sufficient for Arrow-of-Stars to begin to grasp at the truth Morgana had kept from him: that the Wildworld was a realm entirely apart from Earth.

After Elwyn’s departure, he turned his questions on Morgana, asking not only about her and Elwyn’s native land, but also about her portal-spells – and about the mirrors, which had continued to appear in his spirit-dreams.  At first Morgana turned the inquiries aside, but Arrow-of-Stars persisted, and gradually he teased out the answers he sought.  Then, late one night, he surprised her emerging from a mirror, and she was forced to admit she had come from Findahl, where she and Terzian had been discussing the Council’s latest machinations.

From that point, it was only a matter of time before disaster struck.

#

It was no use attempting to explain the Council’s decree – that Morgana alone, born as she was of the Stillworld and Wildworld both, was entitled to use the Passages she had bound into Fell Andred’s mirrors.  For Arrow-of-Stars, one magical gateway was much like another.  He saw no difference between ordinary portals, such as Morgana could create with her Gold Staff, and the Passages between Earth and the Wildworld.  And though he had absorbed an immense amount of knowledge in his time with Morgana, he had not fully grasped the idea that Findahl was a world entirely distinct from Earth.

Nor, in the end, could Morgana long resist her heart-mate’s fierce desire to see the Wildworld with his own eyes, to set foot in the lands where she had been born.  The young Yuma was in some ways as much an explorer as he was a dream-singer, and just as the lovers shared a mutual thirst for knowledge, so too was Arrow-of-Stars a match for Morgana in strength of will.

So at last Morgana created an amulet for Arrow-of-Stars that would allow him to pass through the mirrors, and – very cautiously – led him through them to her castle in Findahl.  The dream-singer was fascinated, and at first it seemed that might be enough to satisfy his curiosity.  But secretly he chafed under the strictures Morgana laid on their visits to the Wildworld – that he must never go there without her, and that while there he might never stray beyond Fell Andred’s walls lest the Council find and punish them both.

Only long afterward did Morgana learn how soon Arrow-of-Stars had begun slipping through the mirrors on his own, to study the stars of Findahl from the castle roof.  And even then she did not anticipate what awaited her the night when she woke to find herself alone, and her heart-mate’s amulet missing from the locked chest in which it was kept.

Her own native caution prompted her to wake Owen Pendennis, who promptly volunteered to come through the mirrors with her to seek out Arrow-of-Stars.  Morgana gravely declined the offer – there was no time to create the amulet he would need, and no sense in compounding the risk she was already running.  But she did set Owen to guard the mirror through which she departed, warning him that it might be some time before she was able to return.

And indeed it was.  For awaiting her in the great hall of her own castle were Thia Pendriel and a score of minor sorcerei...and Arrow-of-Stars, held bodily by two tall and muscular Finderlais guards.

The Magistress favored Morgana with a cold stare.  “Morgana Shee,” she said, “you are in violation of your sworn oaths to the Weerul Council.  By the Council’s authority I command you: yield up your staff and submit to lawful judgment.”

To his credit, Arrow-of-Stars neither struggled nor cowered.  Instead, he spoke quickly and urgently. “You must not – I have dreamed it!  Fly!”

With one sweeping motion, Thia Pendriel raised her Silver Staff and pointed it.  “Silence, mortal!”

Arrow-of-Stars flicked an instant’s glance at Morgana, his eyes again urging her back through the mirror behind her.  Then he met the Magistress’ cold gaze with sudden, uncanny clarity.  “You have been in my dreams as well,” he told her.  “Do as you like, but know this: set aside your heart’s desire now, and you may achieve it one day.   Persist in seeking it out, and you never will.”

“You dare judge me?”  Thia Pendriel’s tone was derisive, but there was a faint undercurrent of fear in it as well.  The Silver Staff flared...

...and before Morgana could raise the Gold to block it, a bolt of power flashed out.  In the space of an instant, Arrow-of-Stars was transformed into a statue of purest ice, and in the instant after that, the ice shattered into tens of thousands of tiny shards.

“You had no right!”  Morgana was half-blind with pain and rage, but she retained just enough control to cast a shield round herself as she screamed the words.

“His life was forfeit by Council decree,” came the reply.  “I merely carried out lawful sentence.  Take her!”

The duel that followed was fierce and desperate, but Thia Pendriel had brought too many sorcerei with her, and eventually Morgana was subdued and restrained, though not before she defeated several of her opponents.  The Magistress did not quite dare kill her outright – and neither, without the Council’s explicit blessing, could she claim the Gold Staff for herself – but Morgana was chained and taken to Weerien, where she was brought before the Council itself.

There matters might have ended – most likely with Morgana’s execution – but for Terzian Logren, who argued passionately for mercy and sharply criticized Thia Pendriel’s harsh treatment of Arrow-of-Stars, especially since the Council had previously recognized the heart-bond he and Morgana had shared.  Even that plea, however, fell short of swaying enough Councilors to Morgana’s favor, which was when Terzian abruptly swept the Gold Staff from where it lay before the Councilors and tossed into the defendant’s chained hands.

A second battle royal might have ensued if not for the intervention of the Feathered Serpents, but the confusion was sufficient for Morgana to cast a portal and escape, first to her castle in Findahl and then through the mirrors to the Earthly Fell Andred, where she crumpled to the floor in front of Owen Pendennis.

#

It was a full week before Owen and Elspeth were able to pry the story from Morgana, whom they could barely persuade to eat or drink or care for herself.  And it was a week after that before Elwyn appeared, far more subdued than usual, with news that Terzian had been temporarily barred from the Council...but that she had accepted that punishment only after persuading them to revoke Morgana’s death sentence so long as she remained in the Stillworld.

“I shall certainly not trouble them again,” Morgana said, her voice rough.  “Indeed, I shall leave off magic entirely, for all the ill it has brought me.”

Owen coughed politely.  “As you wish, mistress,” he said.  “But if that’s your choice, there’s one thing I wish you’d do before putting it all aside.”

Morgana looked at him sharply.  “And what is that?”

He swallowed.  “Send me back to England, if you would.  I don’t – I can’t stay now.  I can’t _help_ , not in any way you’ll need.”

“You have and you could,” Morgana told him, her heart heavier than ever.  But she granted the favor, though she did not herself set foot on the grounds of her former manor once she had cast the final portal.  And once she had returned to Fell Andred, she locked her workshop, set aside her staff, and spent most of the next fifty years helping Elspeth grow ordinary herbs and crying herself to sleep at night.

Eventually, the crying gave way to quieter pain, and then to plain resignation.  Elspeth grew old and passed on, leaving Morgana entirely alone save for the vixen, and years and decades and centuries passed.  There were occasional visitors – passing Indians might see a great longhouse on the little hilltop, and in time Spanish travelers told tales of a haunted mission or an abandoned hacienda.  As villages and towns and cities began to spring up nearby, Morgana ventured cautiously out of her self-imposed isolation from time to time to observe the course of their development, and to take what measures were necessary to secure and maintain her privacy.  She also kept up with technology’s advance, both for convenience – the advent of electric kitchen appliances improved her eating habits immensely – and because the renovations kept the house from becoming too conspicuous by its very timelessness.

And then Elwyn returned from a century-long sulk with news of Cadal Forge’s latest intrigue, and Morgana’s life changed again.


	4. Epilogue

_Fell Andred (Stillworld) – present day_

By the time Morgana finished her tale, late afternoon sunlight was angling through the kitchen window.  A rack of dishes drying next to the sink proved that lunch had happened somewhere along the way, but neither Alys nor Janie could have said what they’d eaten, except to note that the ginger cookies were long since gone and the plate now on the table looked to have brownie crumbs scattered across it.

“Well,” Janie said, after a brief, awkward silence.  “That was – informative.”

Alys gave her sister a severe look, then shifted to face Morgana.  “I take it Owen Pendennis was...”

“Of Arthur’s line, yes,” the sorceress acknowledged.

“But he left!” Janie objected.  “I thought you’d cast a spell—”

“Intended to keep him near?  So I did,” said Morgana.  “But that spell was never meant to compel anyone against their will.  Owen made his choice freely – and in time, his descendants found their way back.”

Alys regarded Morgana thoughtfully for a long moment.  With Caliborn gone, the magical bond between them had faded – but something else was beginning to take its place.

“Thank you,” she said.  “For everything.” 

And then she quietly pushed back her chair, stood up, walked around the table, and stretched her arms lightly around Morgana in the gentlest version of a hug she could manage.

Janie’s glimpse of Morgana’s face lasted only for an instant. But it was long enough to see her expression shift from shock to astonishment to wonder before the sorceress put her own arms around Alys, fully relaxing for the first time since the children had met her.

# # #

**Author's Note:**

> The foregoing story represents a considerable amount of educated guesswork – and the author’s best efforts to reconcile parts of the story that are not entirely consistent with one another. The prologue states the essential dimensions of the problem; simply put, if one accepts Morgana’s and the vixen’s statements about not practicing magic for 500 years, it’s necessary to do a lot of stretching in order to make real-world history line up with the book’s internal chronology. At the same time, it turns out that Villa Park, California actually exists almost precisely as described in the books – so that while one can’t quite pinpoint Fell Andred itself, one can get astonishingly close. Which also complicates certain aspects of a prospective retcon....


End file.
